Skies of Arcadia: The Armada of Arcadia
by Neetyneet
Summary: On an otherwise quiet night, First Admiral Mendosa's ship is caught off-guard and pillaged, leaving his daughters orphaned. That same night, Blue Rogues-in-training Vyse and Aika mount their first rescue mission. Read on and discover a new history.
1. The Good Doctor

All characters belong to SEGA entertainment, etc.

**Obviously, here be spoilers.**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** I didn't get a chance to say this in the summary, but this is an alternate universe fic. I have structured the plot as if Doc never discovered Mendosa's betrayal and subsequent death at the hands of Ramirez. Massive thanks, oturlu, for pointing this out.

**Chapter One**

**The Good Doctor**

"Looks to be a quiet night, men. All right, lower the anchor and harness the sails. We'll stop here for the time being."

The boards underneath my feet stirred with the crew's activity. They bustled past me in their identical uniforms of navy, barely noticing me, while I in turn ignored them. I thought of them as a well-oiled machine, knowing to disturb one would be to discredit the Admiral's brilliant work.

I looked over at him as he began to pack away, dismantling his telescope and sextant with almost surgical precision. Watching him peer at it through his think lenses, I realised he saw the instruments as I saw the anatomy of a human; he was taking it apart with such expertise to ensure he would be able to reconstruct it in the morning. He stopped momentarily, patted the left pocket of his grey robes, and dug his free hand into a pocket to reveal a small bottle of oil. He retrieved a rag from another pocket and began to gently lubricate part of the telescope's mechanism.

This seems long ago to me. I was old enough to have shed my youthful naivety, yet young enough to be considered by many as being at the peak of my career in medicine. After graduating from my medicinal studies, I was chosen by First Admiral Galcian himself for Admiral Mendosa's crew.

"Doctor," said the Admiral softly, interrupting my thoughts.

"Yes, Admiral?" I stepped forward, my lab coat swinging open. He was still so engrossed in his work that I half-expected him not to finish giving me orders. Finally, with a fluid and precise movement, he replaced the telescope and its parts into the leather casing and swung the lid shut. He turned to look at me. He was a good fifteen years my senior, and his face was contoured, giving him a stern look. His eyes were magnified behind his spectacles. Perhaps it was because of his hyperopia, but he seemed to always be gazing very intently.

"Doctor, you are dismissed for the evening." He brought his arms around to his front and clasped his hands, interlocking the fingers together and taking a few steps towards me. I nodded curtly. "However, I would ask that before you retire to your quarters, might you take the time to check upon my daughters?" He smiled knowingly. "My little Maria, in particular, has trouble settling down some nights. She is most afraid of the dark." His thumbs poked up above the entwined fingers and began to wind around each other.

"It would be a pleasure, Sir," I replied. "If you like, I shall read to the girls, and administer some chamomile to calm their nerves and help them sleep."

The Admiral smiled warmly, and the light from the lanterns made his spectacles glow briefly. "You know best, Doctor." He took a few steps closer to me to address me personally. "I do appreciate the gift of your wisdom and resourcefulness that you lend to this crew." He paused to remove his spectacles with his hand and begin to polish them with his robe. Thinking he was extending to me his hand, I reached out briefly, opening my lab coat. My undershirt and work trousers were exposed, as was the glint of metal as the contour of the blade in its crude leather holster on my belt was exposed. It caught the Admiral's eye. For a moment I thought I was in for a scolding, but the Admiral chuckled breathily.

"My dear Doctor, there is no need for such a blade on my ship here," he began, as I ashamedly struggled to conceal it again with my lab coat, "Nobody is going to kill you! At least, nobody on my crew."

"My apologies, Sir- " I began, but the Admiral was chuckling lightly. I bowed respectfully, before turning around and leaving the cabin. My last sight of Admiral Mendoza was of him smiling to himself, and replacing the bottle of oil into his robe pocket.

To get from the cabin to my quarters, I had to pace almost the length of the ship. From the cabin onwards, the ship was almost entirely crafted of the finest veneered wood. _The Aquila_ was a credit to Valua's craftsmen, and only below deck did the fine attention to details stop in the crew's quarters and engine room, where everything was replaced with metal. Luckily, as I was ranked above the crew along with the ship's cook and the first mate, I had the privilege of a wonderfully furnished room to myself. As I was passing my door on the way to the girls' room next door to mine, I noticed the cook, Gaston, coming out of his.

His beady black eyes noticed me, and he straightened up to and waddled towards me. I noticed he was wearing his bedclothes and suppressed a laugh – he was a rotund little man and swathed in his white gown he looked a little like an uncooked pastry.

"Evening Doctor," he began. I nodded my greetings. "Pardon me but I was just up to fetch myself fresh jug of water." He brandished the clay jug at me, and turned it upside down as evidence. If I didn't know any better, I'd have thought he was on his way down to the cold store for a midnight snack. I smiled. He took my smile for acceptance and carried on, "You know Doc, between you and me, I'm really not sure about this visit tomorrow. Seems a little…unnecessary, don't 'cha reckon?" He was leaning towards me, as if he were afraid of being overheard.

_Tomorrow_? I furrowed my brow, and then I remembered. Of course, tomorrow the ship was due to sail back to the outskirts of Valua for an important meeting with the Armada. The Empress Theodora would be present, as would the other Admirals below Mendoza. I had completely forgotten. There was a slightly sour taste in my mouth that I could definitely not put down to acid reflux.

"It's not that I don't like the Empress…" began Gaston again, his voice becoming hoarse as he tried to whisper, "It's just that Second Admiral Galcian."

There it was; the reason for the sour taste, but try as I might I was too proud to admit that I disliked Galcian as much as any of the crew. His cruel mouth always sneered whenever Mendoza spoke to him, or indeed whenever he spoke of Mendoza. He acquired a dislike of me after he realised that anything he said against Admiral Mendoza in private was related straight to him by me. The only thing that had seemingly diminished his lust for greater power was his young apprentice, Ramirez, the resourceful young stowaway I had discovered a mere three years ago. On my rounds examining the crew one day I had uncovered the boy hiding in the warmth of the engine room. I had brought him straight to Admiral Mendoza, who had naturally seen the boy's potential.

"Although," I said to Gaston, vocalising my thoughts, "Galcian seems preoccupied by his young protégé. I believe Admiral Mendoza intends for Ramirez to become Galcian's eventual successor."

Gaston ran his tongue over his teeth, considering this. "Galcian won't be happy about that. 'E wants himself to take Gregorio's place as Second Admiral, or better. Out for himself, that one. Nothing Mendoza can do to stop that greed: prevent it, per'aps, but stop? Oh no." He gave a knowing smirk. Lost for anything else to say, Gaston shrugged his rounded shoulders. "We'll 'ave to see tomorrow. Night, Doc."

With that, he shuffled past me, grunting to himself as he went.


	2. Time for Tales

**Chapter Two**

**The Good Doctor**

The doorknob of Maria and Piastol's room squeaked gently as I turned it, but I was fairly certain that they were awake. There was a lantern by little Maria's bedside that was still on, puttering in the breeze from the window. On the other side of the room, Maria's older sister Piastol was sat with her back against the wall, reading a thick and heavy book. She was balancing the tome on her knees and holding a small lamp and candle with one of her hands. She was squinting in the semi-darkness, I recognised that if she carried on reading in the dark night after night she would eventually develop eye problems like her father.

In the partial light, she looked a lot older than twelve. She was reading through one of my books that I had loaned her, after the Admiral had expressed a desire for her to learn alchemy and science. I saw her tracing a picture of a medicinal herb with one of her fingernails.

Maria stirred in her cot, and sat up, her pale little face lit by the lantern. "Doc?" she said, sleepily.

Piastol looked up suddenly, as if she had just realised I was there. "Doc!" she said, snapping the book shut and stowing it under her covers. Maria struggled out of bed and ran to hug my legs. "Come on little Miss, to bed," I said gently to her, but she merely giggled and hugged harder. Piastol stretched her legs, got out of bed and reached over to grab her sister and coax her away from me. Maria whined and fussed. I sat down on the edge of Piastol's bed and she began to calm down.

"Story, tell us a story," she chanted in a sing-song voice.

"Please Doc," asked Piastol. "You know she won't go to sleep unless you do." With one arm around her little sister's waist, she slid the medicinal dictionary she had been reading out from under the covers and replaced it on the wooden bookshelf between her bed and the window. The curtains billowed in the night breeze, and a musty smell wafted into the room.

"Well, as you put it that way…" I began, and Maria clapped her hands in delight and squealed. I hushed her gently and cleared my throat for emphasis. I was quite amused to see both girls watching me so intently – Maria was barely three years old and still hero-worshipped her father and I, but Piastol was fast becoming a young lady. She had already started seeing a tutor at her father's insistence, was learning not only alchemy and biology from myself but also how to cook and clean and other such domesticities. All this, and she dreamed to follow in her father's career path. On a previous visit to Valua she had noticed the presence of a young woman in the Armada, a skilled army official not much younger than myself who had gained favour with Galcian and was working her way slowly but surely up in rank.

Piastol had noticed the red-haired young woman and the dark robes of an official and had said to me, "You see? A woman can do just as good a job as a man can."

"Certainly a woman as hard-working and intelligent as you, Piastol," I had assured her. "If your heart is in the right place, you can do anything you choose."

Even now as I was trying desperately to spin a yarn, knowing that my creativity was limited to my experiments with different types of fruit and herb, I realised that soon she would begin to outrank me. Despite this, I felt a swelling of pride behind my ribs. If anyone was going to take over from Admiral Mendoza, I would much sooner have it be his own daughter than the domineering Galcian.

I finished my brief story (it was about two princesses – a sweet and kind one for Maria and a brave and courageous one for Piastol) and began to tuck the girls in. Maria whimpered as I headed for the door. Piastol tutted.

"She's so scared of the dark now. Can I keep the lantern on?" she asked.

"Of course," I said, noticing the open window. "I'll just shut this in case it blows over in the night." I crossed to the window and closed the pretty stained wood frame. Peering out into the night, I recall seeing the calm of the night air, and nothing around save for a dot on the landscape. What was that? Maybe a neighbouring island or another vessel, making passage in the night.

I bid Piastol a good night and made her promise not to strain her eyes in the dark ("I promise, Doc. You do fuss so much!"), and waved goodnight to little Maria, tucked safe underneath the covers. As I shut the door quietly, I realised that there still was an acrid smell in the air, possibly coming from above deck. Assuming it was nothing more than my imagination, I slipped into my room and closed the door for the night.


	3. Leaping Over the Flames

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **A massive thanks to oturlu for helping to point out that this is an _alternate universe _fic i.e. I have given myself a bit of creative license, I should have stated that at the beginning of the first chapter or in the synopsis. So if you've been reading and wondering where I got my ideas from, that's why. Thanks for reading!

**Chapter Three**

**Leaping Over the Flames**

I woke up with a start some indefinite time later. I was reclining in my leather study chair still in my underclothes, and a book was laid out on my chest. I really was no better than Piastol for reading late at night.

It was then that I knew I could definitely smell something. It was a thick stench, like treacle or tanned leather, and it was coming from above. I heard muffled shouts, banging, bustling activity. In the pit of my stomach I knew something wasn't quite right. Now I could smell lamp oil. Maybe something had knocked over a lantern on the deck and now there was a small fire. I thought that since I was up, I may as well venture forth and see if I could be of any help.

I was just rising from my chair and slipping my white coat over my shoulders when I heard the first boom of cannon fire.

In the split seconds between the thunderous explosion and the first impact on the cabin side of the ship, I had to check myself twice to be sure I'd heard correctly. Then my books started flying out of the bookshelf opposite my desk, one by one as I looked at them, almost as if by telekinesis. I lurched forwards onto my knees with the impact and grabbed the edge of my desk for stability.

I hasten to say that for a few minutes I was too petrified to move. It was only after three more shots in succession were fired, and I had to crawl underneath the heavy wooden desk for protection from the flying projectiles did I hear Maria scream from the next room. Her scream propelled me into action as adrenaline coursed through me and powered my legs into mobility. I ran to my door as wood splintered above my head, threw it open with enough force to almost tear it from the hinges, ran down the corridor and grasped for the doorknob of the girls' room as if for dear life. I flung the door open.

Maria screamed again, perhaps thinking I was a marauder. Their books and toys were all over the floor, and I noticed with horror that the lantern had fallen onto the floor and ignited the space between the girls' beds. The oil was spreading over the books and increasing the fire as the seconds passed.

Piastol was stood up on her pillow, trying desperately to climb up onto the bookcase out of the way of the fire. The flames licked at her bedcovers and started to creep up them onto her mattress. Maria began to cry. I stamped at the flames, despairing at my own helplessness. "Hold on!" I cried to Piastol, as her stocking-clad feet slipped on the polished wood.

Then as if it were as easy as falling, I watched her bend down and prepare herself before leaping over the angry flames towards her sister's bed. She landed with ease right next to Maria and scooped her up in the blankets like a treasure.

I was astounded. It was this little girl's bravery that led me to take off my coat and throw it over the flames at Piastol, making sure she covered herself before marching unafraid into the fire and clasping both girls under each of my arms. I leapt like a beast away from the flames, keeping both children swathed in the coat and blankets. I ignored the searing heat of the fire and the slick hot oil coating my work boots. It felt as though I was walking on coals.

We made it through the doorway and staggered as one into the corridor, where already a riot was beginning. I fell gasping for breath at the food-stained boots of Gaston. He bent down and clasped me by the shoulders in desperation.

"Get up, Doctor; take the girls and get out!" He shook me roughly. "There's been a raid! Don't go back for nothin'!" He bundled Maria and the blankets into my lap, tried to raise me to my feet. In all the years, this was the fastest I'd seen him move. "Get out, out to the lifeboats, out while you can."

He squeezed my shoulder one last time, before fleeing down the corridor and down the stairs to the lower deck.

I glanced at Maria and Piastol. Maria was crying silently, and this worried me a great deal more than if she had been wailing in fear. Piastol's face shone with heat and tears. I had to leave, but I knew I could not leave without ensuring the safety of Admiral Mendosa. The girls needed somewhere safe to hide, where the looters and rioters would not bother them. Something made me think of the engine rooms, where I had first found the boy Ramirez, crouched behind the main engine, warming himself on the pipes. There was nothing of value in the engine rooms, and the girls were small enough to go unnoticed if they squeezed behind the pipes.

I took Piastol's clammy hand. "Come on," I said, hoisting Maria onto my hip and unsteadily starting off in the same direction as Gaston. As we were running, Piastol gazed at me.

"We have to find father." She said it as if it had just dawned on her. I felt her hand stiffen in panic. "We have to find father," she repeated to me, almost stopping. I dragged on her arm to keep her going. Our footsteps turned to clanking as we reached the dull metal floors of the lower deck.

"Piastol, you have to stay here -" She froze again in fear and indignation. "Please, stay here. I promise I will go and find your father and bring him to you. I promise."

"Father, father," lamented Maria as I put her down and tucked her behind the ship's thick, humming pipes with her blankets as protection. "I promise," I said to Piastol's glowing face. She looked just as she did when she was bearing down to jump over the flames. "I will be back for you. Wait here and stay out of sight."

"No, no, no," cried Maria silently, and my heart almost stopped beating. As I turned to leave, I remembered my knife. I unsheathed it quickly and thrust it into Piastol's open, trembling hand. Maria flinched at the sight of it. I closed Piastol's fingers over the hilt. "Take it. Use it if you need to."

Forcing myself not to glance back, I turned and fled down the cold metal corridor and up the stairs. I noticed the flames now bursting out of Maria and Piastol's room like an uncaged beast, ravaging the wood in its path. I fled past it and leapt over my door, which had fallen clean off of its hinges. I glanced into my room and saw that the fire had started to spread through the walls, the ceiling was giving way with smouldering planks falling like deathly arrows.

Passing many members of crew fleeing the other way, I raced up to the deck. Anything I could have imagined was better than what I saw. I noticed, at first, the great mast had been rendered in two and the crow's nest, now ablaze, was swinging just above head height like a pendulum. I watched in horror as a handful of the crew ran by, and one who was just not quick enough was struck by the flaming pole and sent flying overboard without a sound.

There was broken glass underfoot. I could barely hear a thing over the crackle of flame, and as I cried out in vain for the Admiral I realised that the cabin was almost completely destroyed. The rubble from its steel hold was scattered about the deck, splitting the deck of the ship in half. I could hear shouts from over the piles of splintered wood and rendered metal.

Remembering my promise, I fled past the swinging mast and tried to find a place safe enough to climb. I touched the metal and found it seared the palms of my hands. The air grew thick with the scent of burning skin as I ignored the pain and climbed over the wreckage.

Finally, I saw the other side of the ship. There had obviously been a cannon blast that blew the cabin apart. I saw the heavy leather case that held the telescope and sextant, and for some reason I propelled myself towards it, groping in the fatal mixture of glass, ash and splinter.

And then I heard the muffled cry of the Admiral. He was laying on his front on the wooden deck merely five metres ahead of me as I lunged for the case. His hand grasped for me as his naked eyes recognised me. His spectacles lay mangled a few feet away.

I forgot everything as I lunged towards him and gripped his arm. There were flames creeping up the bow, I was aware that I had to move him away, until I saw the red glimmer of blood leaking from his side like the oil leaking from the upturned lantern. I saw that the blade that had dealt the would was as thick as the length of my finger, and the assailant had thrust it upwards through the abdomen into the ribcage, probably breaking some of the ribs and definitely rupturing the right lung and possibly other organs. How I hated my knowledge of anatomy and medicine just then. I loathed it in spite, because I knew immediately from the amount of blood seeping from him that it was too late to save him.

My breath rasped hoarsely, as did his. "P-Pia-s-s-tol," he gasped. "M-M-aria?"

"Safe, they are safe," I choked, clasping his hand. He gripped me tightly, possibly as a reaction to the pain.

"Save them," he said, almost as clearly and loudly as usual, piercing me with his intense gaze. "P-Promise-"

"I swear," I said, sweat pouring into my eyes. I hadn't noticed that flames had engulfed the sleeve of his left arm. I only realised it was happening when I smelt the burning as his hair heated and caught aflame.

"Go," he said, with all the sadness and resignation of a dying man. I then realised horribly that his bottle of oil was still in his pocket. It had broken and the thick substance was mingling with the blood on the floor and on his robes.

I finally let go of his hand as his body caught fire. For a brief second he looked illuminated, full of wonder like a heavenly being; then I turned my face in grief and cowardice, grasping the leather case once more as if for comfort, and throwing myself towards the rubble and back towards the Admiral's daughters with sweat and tears pouring from me.


	4. Sky Pirates

**Chapter Four**

**Sky Pirates**

"Hey, get up!"

Vyse Dyne stirred. He had heard the ruckus from his bedroom but in his lust for sleep had tried to ignore it. Now he was being painfully poked in the ribs by a small, sleepy-eyed girl in a nightdress with her red hair in pigtails.

"Get up, Vyse. Get up right now." She retracted her finger and folded her arms as Vyse struggled to open his eyes and sit up in his hammock.

"Buzz off, Aika," he said bluntly to the girl. "I don't care if it is time to raise the flag, I'm tired from earlier and I want at least five more minutes."

He turned over, only to find his bed suddenly tilting a little more than he intended. With a thud, he found himself on the floor, covered in his duvet. Aika, not to be outdone in a contest of stubbornness, had grabbed the edge of his hammock and pulled, tipping him onto the floor. She stood over him, glaring and frowning.

Before Vyse could shout at her, she cut in. "It's not morning yet. The lookout spotted a ship in trouble. We're going on a rescue mission."

She had said the magic words. Vyse rose up as if mesmerised and brushed himself down. "Rescue mission?" he repeated, almost dreamily. Aika smiled at his sudden change in demeanour. "Yes. A Valuan ship was hit by fire from Black Pirates and sent out a distress flare. The Captain says we're all to report to duty."

"The Captain?" said Vyse in slight disbelief. "Call for us? But we're just the kids!" He crossed the room to his desk and looped a bandanna over his crop of bushy brown hair. Aika nodded thoughtfully. "I guess it's serious. Sounds like they were attacked without warning." She looked momentarily wistful. "Shame there won't be any treasure…"

Vyse tutted. "You and your treasure!" He picked up his day clothes.

"Shut up" said Aika, "And just get ready. We should be up there with the rest of the crew by now, but I can't help it if you want _five more minutes_." Vyse knew she was teasing, so he pulled a face. Aika grabbed him by the shoulders and steered him out of his room. "Now get out! I have to change." She slammed the door.

Vyse was momentarily bewildered at how easily manipulated he was. "Change in your own room!" he yelled at the closed door, but nevertheless he struggled into his clothes in the landing outside his room.

Moments later, Aika opened the door. She was wearing a simple white cotton shirt, and her traditional yellow shorts that Vyse recognised as the ones his mother had made her the previous summer. She was quite tall for her ten years, tall and slim from a basic diet and working long hours on a busy vessel. Her bunched hair was long enough to just touch her shoulders.

"Finally, you're done. Quit holding me up already." She yawned and stretched.

Vyse started off down the corridor, past three more cabins and towards a crude ladder made of logs and twine. It shook with his weight as he climbed it; soon it wouldn't be able to hold him up and they'd need a new one. He and Aika were growing up fast. The fact that the Captain had called for them for this rescue mission was incontestable proof of this.

Vyse leapt over the top of the ladder, pausing only to extend a hand to Aika behind him. He turned around, only to find himself face to face with Captain Dyne.

The Captain was a formidable man. He stood over six feet tall, and where Vyse and Aika were still scrawny and childlike he was brawny and muscular. Vyse knew he could lift a small cannon over his head; he had seen him do it. However, there was something understated to his power: he wore a long-sleeved blue shirt with a battered red leather waistcoat that was never done up, with thick cotton trousers tucked uniformly into sturdy, no-nonsense black boots. Captain Dyne knew from his long years of sailing that if you looked at the sailor with the bare chest and arms, flexing his oiled muscles, you could probably outwit him because of his obvious arrogance. At first glance, Captain Dyne was nothing out of the ordinary, but if he were to square up for a fight in a sailor's tavern, you could almost bet that the place would be almost empty in seconds. Nobody really wanted to fight Captain Dyne; mainly because they knew in turn that Captain Dyne never really wanted to fight…unless, of course, it was completely necessary.

"Vyse," he said, rubbing one hand over the stubble on his chin. "You are very late."

"Yes Sir," barked Vyse subordinately.

"When you are on a ship," continued Dyne, folding his strong arms almost deliberately slowly; "Being late can-"

"-Cost lives, yes, I know." Aika, who had shrunk behind Vyse so as not to attract too much attention, was incensed at Vyse's blind arrogance, and she extended her fingers and jabbed him straight in the ribs. Vyse lurched forward suddenly, and earned an even sterner look from the Captain.

"Do **not** interrupt me."

Vyse truly was ashamed, and from the pit of his stomach to the back of his throat there blazed a trail of uneasiness. He hadn't meant to be cheeky to the Captain; he only wanted to hurry things along.

"This is possibly the most important night of your lives as sailors," continued Dyne, unfolding his arms. Vyse copied his movements and stood to attention, as did Aika behind him a little more tentatively. "A Valuan ship of high ranking has been attacked without provocation by a band of Black Pirates. The ship is aflame and seriously damaged. You are to go in groups to the upper deck only-" here he extended a finger for emphasis; "-as it is much too dangerous to traverse the lower decks. If you recover survivors, you are to lead them to our ships within your groups as quickly and as effectively as you can."

He paused to exhale thoughtfully. "Of course, had you been here on time as I had requested, you would already know all of this."

"I'm sorry, Dad." Vyse's voice was barely a whisper.

Dyne turned away slowly and strode three measured paces. "I assume you are ready. Board the ship now. Your group will be waiting for you."

He turned back swiftly. "Do not be late again. Aika, I expect better of you."

Aika barely nodded; it was one of those rare moments where she was thankful for Vyse, as his attitude had saved her further embarrassment. Dyne took the same three paces back to them. He looked Vyse in the eye.

"And don't call me 'Dad'."

Vyse lowered his eyes. "Yes Captain."

Dyne allowed himself a few seconds' grace, before turning and re-entering his cabin with barely a sound. He closed the door on his son and adoptive daughter. He knew that as a father he should be gravely concerned perhaps to the point of panic at the mere idea of sending children onto a burning ship.

"I don't blame you for wanting them to go."

Dyne felt a soft hand on his shoulder and breathed in the homely scent of a day's cooking. He smiled, and said without turning, "Thank you. You know I wouldn't let them near a rescue mission without your approval."

Laurel Dyne draped her arm over her husband's strong shoulders. "They're getting older all the time. They need to wise up as they grow. I guess if Vyse is going to take after his father, he's going to have to get hands-on sooner rather than later." She crossed to the other side of the cabin where her stitching lay on a cushion. She picked it up carefully, seated herself and laid it out on her lap.

Dyne picked up a beaker from the table, examined it as though inspecting it for signs of tarnish, then shrugged and took a gulp from the contents. He wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve and said, "Let's get going. The more we stall, the more lives are lost."

He crossed to the door to see his son and Aika rushing together up the ladder that led from the underground to the island. Vyse stopped at the top as always to help his friend up. Dyne knew he shouldn't wish for his son to make him proud, but he did.


	5. The Fifth Law

**Chapter Five**

**The Fifth Law**

"Come on!"

Aika grasped Vyse's hand and leapt briskly over the top rung of the ladder. The prospect of a rescue mission excited her; in her mind there would be a big reward at the end, just like in a looting, except it would be less treasure and more praise, and possibly the prospect of less chores and more actual Blue Rogue activity. In her naivety she was completely unprepared for the trauma of a rescue. Suddenly she realised that Vyse had stopped a few paces ahead of her. He was pointing at her open palms.

"What?" she said, slightly irritably. She wanted more than anything to get on the ship, anxious that they might leave without her.

"You haven't got your weapons." Vyse drew back his blue shirt to reveal his cutlass, tucked into his belt.

Aika rolled he eyes. "It's a rescue mission, dur." She tossed her head back in a superior fashion. "We don't need weapons for a rescue mission." At his expression of disbelief, she continued, "What, you think the survivors are going to attack us? Seriously Vyse."

Vyse didn't appreciate Aika's patronisation. "Always be audacious, remember? I can't be audacious without my weapons, right? I thought I was just being prepared, _like Dad told us to_." He twisted the knife. Aika always had a problem with authority.

Aika snubbed him, rushing ahead. "It's not Dad, it's 'Captain' to you."

Vyse was so annoyed with her that he made sure he beat her to the landing platform. He skidded to a halt in front of the Vice Captain, Briggs. He looked the boy up and down. "Ah, Vyse. In a rush to join us, and running late as usual." Vyse groaned and tramped heavily past the old man onto deck, making Aika giggle. "And Aika too," said Briggs, checking her off his list. "You're in Mabel's group. Please hurry up and find her and receive your bearings."

Aika was happy. She liked Mabel, and that would only make taking her orders easier. Vyse however seemed to think he knew what to do. "What's the big deal?" he called over his shoulder to Aika as they assembled on the starboard side, close to Mabel and assorted other members of the crew. "We can handle this ourselves." The young woman was stood up on an upturned crate, shouting at her companions and handing out supplies of small handheld distress flares, bandages, rope and valuable Curia spells. As the crew passed them back, Aika took the Curia spell from Vyse's eager hands.

"I'll be taking that, thanks," she said, leaving Vyse the bandages, the flare and hoisting the coil of rope onto her shoulder. "And the big deal is that we're not gonna muss this up! This is our chance to show the Captain what we're made of, and we gotta follow orders." She almost bit her tongue.

Vyse was looking at her. She half-expected another retort, but instead he said "I'm glad you're on my team."

Aika was so taken aback that she dropped the rope and blushed. She was about to say something back, when the chains of the ship's anchor began to squeal as it was reeled in. Aika shivered against the night air and huddled into the group, closer to Vyse, hoping that if she brushed him gently with her arm he'd realise she was trying to thank him. He looked at her and winked.

"Ship ahooooooooy!" came the bellow from the crow's nest, and Vyse and Aika could see it, partially lit up like a beacon, smouldering parts of it dropping off into the sky like bones dropping from a skeleton. Aika furrowed her brow in worry. Only now did she realise the danger that the people on that ship were in.

"Don't worry," said Vyse. "We'll be OK." He had yet to decide who he was trying to convince: Aika or himself.


	6. Theft and Identity

**Chapter Six**

**Theft and Identity**

Vyse took the rope in his arms and threw it heavily, grunting with the effort. The coil spread through the air and landed with a thud on the deck of the other ship. He glanced back at Aika, who yanked the other end of the rope to make sure it was secured to the mast, and then gave him the thumbs up. He stepped up onto the railing with the rope in his hands and leapt towards the other ship, twisting his body effortlessly, letting the rope slide between his hands and bending his knees for the landing. He landed with his legs bent and steadied himself with his hands before stretching up and throwing the rope back towards Aika. He waited until she had landed next to him, slightly less steady on her feet as he had, taking her hand and helping her up.

Below them in the engine room, Piastol and Maria huddled together. Piastol felt her sister flinch as a series of bumps echoed through the deck above them. She rubbed her hand through Maria's soft hair. Where was Doc? He'd been gone for a long time.

She felt braver than she truly was as she followed the ridge of Doc's knife with her thumb-tip. What if he never came back? What if she was going to die in the engine room of her own ship? Wouldn't the flames eventually find them, or worse, blow the ship apart?

She didn't know what to do. Whenever she didn't know the answer to something, she asked her father. Piastol knew she had to find him. He was all the girls had left after the death of their mother. She looked down at Maria. She had to leave her sister here, as it seemed safer for her to stay here than to come with her.

Her heart stopped suddenly as the door to the engine room swung open. Maria gasped. Piastol shuffled further behind the pipes, batting her sister with her hip to keep her further in and hidden. She turned her head to see what was going on.

Three men raced past. They weren't in the smart uniform of the Valuan fleet; in comparison, they looked quite unkempt. They were shouting; it was tough to hear if their shouts were cruel or neutral.

Piastol suddenly felt a rush of anger. If they were on her father's ship and not in crew uniform, then it must have been them. They had blown the ship apart, and now they were here for the treasure!

She watched, breathing heavily through her nostrils as the three men raced through the engine room, not noticing the two little girls behind the engine and the piping, and through the door leading back to the crew's quarters.

Piastol made up her mind. As soon as they were gone, she squeezed out of the pipes. Maria looked out at her quizzically, and then made to wriggle out and follow her sister. Piastol put a hand on her shoulder. "No," she said firmly. Maria looked at her with watery eyes. "You have to stay. Piastol is going to find daddy."

Her voice caught in her throat, and she willed herself not to cry. "I have to be brave," she said to her sister, "And you have to be brave too. Stay here, wait for me. Don't move, no matter what happens."

Maria began to cry silently as she watched her sister leave through the way the strange men had just come. "I love you," she whimpered. "I love you lots."

Piastol fled up the stairs to the top deck. Fire and smoke was everywhere. People were running around, none of them whom she recognised and none of them in Armada uniform.

She wanted to lash out, to hurt one of them, but she was a small girl and they were all grown men and women. She ran between them instead, noticing the ruins of the Captain's cabin. The people were clawing for her, making sounds with their strange mouths, but she was too quick for them. She climbed over the wreckage and found her voice. "Father! Father!"

She reached the other side. There were two figures, darkened like shadows against the blaze at the front of the ship. Piastol realised that they were young, like her. They were bent down over a body.

Piastol saw her father. She saw the two strangers stood over him, saw what looked like guilt on their faces.

He wasn't moving. His coat was on fire. There was oil on the floor – was it oil? She realised it was too dark to be oil. It couldn't be anything other than oil, could it?

Then she saw the boy's cloak flap in the breeze, saw the cutlass at his side. She added it up in her head. They had hurt him. It was blood on the deck, not oil. Her father's blood.

She let out a harsh cry like a wild animal. The two faces snapped towards her. She could do nothing, and now they would kill her.

Then she remembered the knife. She couldn't help her father, but she could make them hurt. She could make them hurt for ever like she was going to hurt, for the rest of their lives or even further. Like she knew she would feel for the rest of her life.

The girl was bent towards her father's body. She had placed her thieving raider hand on her father's arm.

Piastol snapped. She wrenched the knife upwards out of her belt, cutting herself and her nightclothes as she did so, but she felt nothing but a slight sting. With another cry she raised her arm, watching the strange faces distort with disbelief, and flung the knife with all her might towards the girl.


	7. Instrument of Navigation

**Chapter Seven**

**Instrument of Navigation**

I kept running, panting with the effort and with the leather case banging against my side, winding me with every pace. I fled down the stairs so fast that I swear I left part of my insides behind. As I drew closer to the corridor between the stairs leading up and the stairs leading to the engine room, I could see with horror that my way was blocked by the fire that had now engulfed my room and Gaston's. The whole corridor was thick with smoke. _No…_

I heard weak coughing and crying. "Maria?"

The crying stopped, but the coughing continued. "Piastol? Piastol! Maria!" I cried for the girls in the thick smoke, but it was as indistinct as looking into a foggy night sky. I took off my coat and began to beat away the smoke as much as I could, but I knew my lungs were filling with it and soon I would begin to asphyxiate. I dreaded Maria and Piastol meeting the same fate. I swore the coughing was coming from the other side of the smoke.

Then before my eyes, Maria appeared. She must have fought through the fire. Her blonde hair and nightdress was singed, and she was coughing as if she wanted to expel her lungs along with the smoke. I picked her up, bundling her in my coat. She gasped with shock, and then her face turned to me. "Doc," she choked.

I shushed her, cradling my head. Where was Piastol? It was a miracle that Maria made it through that death-trap of a corridor, was I pushing my luck in hoping that both girls had made it?

"Piastol?" groaned Maria, breathing in through the fabric of my coat and coughing some more. I clutched her tighter. "Piastol gone up, she's gone away."

"Gone up?" She must have meant to the upper deck. My bones seemed to turn to liquid. If she had left her sister and gone to the upper deck, I hadn't seen her in the carnage while I was up there.

I took Maria straight back up. By now, the ship was almost abandoned. I screamed for Piastol as her sister lay pressed against my chest, shivering with coughs and sobs. I shouted as much as I could bear, ignoring the smoke and the flames and the still swinging broken mast, remembering my promise to the Admiral. I looked down at Maria in my arms. I couldn't stay here just to doom her to the fate of her father.

Luckily there were still lifeboats near the back of the ship left that hadn't been taken or destroyed. I heard more shouting, more activity on the port side of the ship, but I ignored it nobly; my quest was to save the life of the little girl I had in my arms. I swung the case (I still had it, miraculously, slung by the strap over my shoulder) into the first boat I could find, and tried to lower Maria in but she refused to let me let go of her. I sat on the side of the ship's railing and dropped gently down. The boat rocked treacherously under our combined weight. Carefully I lowered us down with the rope, which was thankfully disentangled.

We set off shakily into the night. There was no light at all. I threw open the case and found the telescope lens blinking back at me in the light from the burning ship, and thankfully the sextant. I knew I'd had a reason for picking it up.

Still cradling Maria, I set the little machine up. It whirred around its own cogs as if it were just waking up, before pointing at a 45 degree angle from the direction we were heading. I picked up the oars and started to row. Bit by bit, we were moving away from the ship.

I couldn't think what we'd do next: where we would go, what we would do with ourselves once we made port somewhere, whether or not we could actually survive a night in the treacherous skies. Luckily, the flames and wreckage had scared off any scavenging creatures in the vicinity. I just knew I had to keep rowing in that direction.


End file.
